


we're on fire now

by leitmotifs (orphan_account)



Series: Goldenfire [1]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Frenemies, M/M, a lot of silliness with codenames, spy AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-30
Updated: 2013-11-30
Packaged: 2018-01-03 01:11:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1063900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/leitmotifs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Harry and Niall are two of the best spies in the world, except maybe not really, because they're enemies and one is not supposed to fraternize with the enemy, but it keeps happening anyway. Liam is very exasperated.</p>
            </blockquote>





	we're on fire now

**Author's Note:**

> um i have no excuse for this except i get sidetracked really easily and [this group](http://bruisesrp.tumblr.com/) is currently my main inspiration and driving force oh god
> 
> this was so frickING FUN TO WRITE and louis is actually my fave here, but all that aside, i hope you guys like this ;v;
> 
> [shiny tumblr link](http://justlogorrheic.tumblr.com/post/68551418294/were-on-fire-now-harry-niall)  
> title is taken from _Happily_!!

i.

“Stand down, Spitfire,” comes Liam’s voice in his earpiece, steady and maybe a little bit resigned. Harry wonders if there are cameras in the room. “We’re sending Joker in after you.”

“Can’t stand down,” says Harry with a sigh. No, he can’t indeed, not when he’s tied up by his feet and dangling five or ten meters in the air.

“I know, just—“ Before Liam can say anymore, the earpiece is slipping off and clattering to the floor.

Harry mutters a quick apology, even if Liam can’t hear it.

Behind him, he hears the sound of a metal door sliding open. He doesn’t dare try to spin around, afraid that if he does, he’ll never be able to stop and he’ll just spend the rest of his life dangling in circles. What an unpleasant thought.

“Spitfire,” he hears someone say, unmistakably Irish and unmistakably amused and unmistakably Niall.

A shock of dyed blond hair and two mirthful blue eyes come into view. Niall is staring at him up and down, probably silently judging, and Harry feels like he should probably be doing something like trying to free himself. After all, he’s standing face-to-face with the top spy of another agency. Hm.

“Goldie,” Harry greets.

“ _Goldenrod_ ,” Niall corrects huffily.

“You should really get that changed.”

Niall pauses. “I really should, huh?”

“Cut me down,” Harry says pleasantly.

“No,” Niall says, equally as pleasantly except perhaps more, because he’s smiling now and oh, yeah, he’s not the one tied up and all. He momentarily disappears from Harry’s view, only to return with a step ladder.

He positions it front of Harry, climbs up, and doesn’t waste time in rooting around his pockets.

Harry’s starting to hope there _aren’t_ cameras in the room. Liam’s gonna have him by the neck. “Lovely view,” he says from where he’s practically facing Niall’s crotch. He has half the mind to punch it and, you know, try to escape. But he doesn’t.

Niall gives a small, victorious hum as he finally finds whatever he’s looking for. When he climbs back down, he has a flash drive in his hand. “Thank you kindly.”

“Hey, no problem,” Harry says, and Niall’s close enough to grab, so he reaches out, tugs him over by the lapels of his leather jacket, and plants a kiss on his lips.

“No fraternizing with the enemy,” Niall chastises, pulling away first.

“I like fraternizing with you.”

“You’re dumb.”

Niall taps his cheek affectionately once, twice, then pushes on his chest and cackles when the action makes the rope sway.

“See you when I come to get that back,” Harry calls after him.

Niall is already out of the warehouse. “Whatever helps you sleep at night, mate!” Then he’s gone, just as quickly as he had arrived.

Harry groans, silently urging Louis to come faster. Liam’s gonna kill him.

 

ii.

“I should kill you,” Liam says grimly, when Harry and Louis shuffle into HQ.

“I was caught off-guard,” Harry defends.

“You let him take it,” Liam deadpans.

“I was literally tied up. Anyway, I’ll get it back soon, so don’t go on worrying too much, Panic Attack.”

“You better, or the director’s gonna have your ass, Spitball.”

“It’s Spit _fire_.”

“Then, for God’s sake, mine’s just Panic.”

Louis smacks them both over the heads. “No bickering,” he says, to which Harry and Liam reply with a mumbled, “Shut up, Joker.” (They both curse him out for picking a codename that’s hard to make fun of, damn it.) Louis is sliding his fingers across the touchscreen, and a few seconds later, Niall’s face is projected on the wall. “How’s he, Harry?”

“Well enough.” Harry crosses his arms loosely over his chest, watching as Louis scrolls through Niall’s file. _Level 01_ , reads the line of text below Niall’s name, meaning highest level of danger, meaning _don’t trust this little shit_ , and most definitely meaning _don’t go kissing him, Harry._

“He took the drive?”

“Yeah.”

“How’re we explaining this one to the director?”

Harry shrugs. “They’re stationed at a beach – I reckon it’s the one just five miles south of here, right? I could go get it back tomorrow, no problem.”

Liam frowns at him. “We don’t have any intelligence confirming their location.”

“Yeah, but he had traces of sunburn on his cheeks. Right here.” Harry draws small circles on his face, as if to illustrate. “The next possibility is an underground base, but I doubt they’d want a repeat of the Oslo fiasco. Plus, remember how he was always trying to petition to relocate HQ to a beach?”

For a few seconds, all he can feel are Liam and Louis’s heavy gazes on them.

“What?” he says, exasperated.

“You,” Liam says slowly, reaching over and typing something into the computer nonetheless, “need to be careful.”

Harry pretends he doesn’t know what he’s talking about.

 

iii.

It’s midnight when Harry walks into the kitchen and finds a blond boy rummaging through their refrigerator.

“Niall,” he says by some form of acknowledgment.

Niall pops his head up. “Hey, Harry.” Then he goes back to the fridge.

Harry sighs and tilts his head back, closing his eyes briefly. He opens them again and tells the ceiling, “This is so fucking abnormal.”

“Why?” Niall seems to find something he likes and nudges the fridge shut. “S’just like old times.”

“Except you left us.”

“You guys still call me Goldie?”

Harry stares at him. “Just like we still call Liam Panic Attack.”

Snickering, Niall maneuvers around the counter and hops up on one of the barstools. He’s eating something, but Harry can’t tell what it is through the darkness.

“What are you doing here?” Harry finally asks.

“Well, I walked out of the warehouse and found out that someone blew up my bike. So I’ve actually been wandering around and decided to drop by. Your base is very inconspicuous.” Niall raises an eyebrow. “Wonder who could’ve done that.”

“Oi, it wasn’t us.” Harry puts his hands up in a universal sign of _don’t look at me_. “You sure you didn’t just forget where you parked it?”

“Funny.” Niall flips him off.

“Seriously, though,” Harry says, “we didn’t do it,” and he’s about to launch into a detailed explanation when Louis suddenly appears in the doorway.

“Niall,” the older boy says, surprised but also not really. This happens frequently. (Probably too frequently, but.)

“Louis!” Niall’s eyes actually brighten.

“How come _we_ aren’t on a first name basis,” Harry complains as Louis wanders over and Niall offers him a bite of whatever he’s eating.

“Because you insist on calling me something that isn’t even my codename.”

“Oh, yeah.” Louis turns to him. “You still go by Goldenrod?”

“Unfortunately,” Niall says, and he’s pouting a little and God forbid, it’s kind of cute. “ ‘m trying to get Zayn to change it – something cooler like Shadow, I don’t know.”

“Zayn?” Harry questions, and Niall looks regretful of anything he said, so Harry assumes that’s who he’s working for now.

“Well, I just came down to find out what all the noise was,” Louis says. “I’m going back to bed – I have training tomorrow. Don’t let Liam find out you were here, okay?” He claps Niall’s shoulder. “Don’t forget to wipe your prints off the fridge.”

“I remembered to wear gloves, see.” Niall brings his hands up and indeed, he’s wearing gloves.

Harry almost snorts at this whole situation. Some spies they are.

Louis leaves the kitchen and then it’s just him and Niall again. A considerable silence blankets them, until he offers a small, “I miss you around here.”

“Yeah?” Niall’s not looking at him, but his tone sounds…wistful. Or maybe Harry’s being wistful and just imagining it. “I guess I miss you guys too.”

“How’s it on your side?”

Niall shoots him a lopsided grin. “If I told you, I’d have to kill you,” he drawls, but he doesn’t really mean it, judging from the way he doesn’t complain when Harry comes over and kisses him.

“No fraternizing with the enemy,” Niall mumbles into the kiss for the umpteenth time.

“Don’t care,” Harry says, and lets it happen.

 

iv.

Liam walks into his room the next morning, and Niall stops giving Harry little kisses on the nose in favor of yelping indignantly and diving under the covers.

Harry stares at his teammate, trying to ignore that he’s naked under the sheets. And with the enemy.

“Training in five minutes,” is all Liam says, bless him, and slams the door shut.

 

v.

“He looked like a tomato,” Niall laughs as he’s pulling his pants back on.

 

vi.

Sometimes Harry wonders what made Niall leave, if it was because of Liam or Louis or him or, hell, maybe all three of them. He remembers that when Niall was around, this felt less like a job and more like coming home to family. He loves Liam and Louis, but it’s not quite the same without Niall, and when he hears Liam being stricter than usual or Louis’s jokes sounding a bit forced, he realizes that maybe, it’s not just him who thinks that.

But maybe it’s the wrong time to be discussing it.

“What I keep thinking,” Louis says through the screwdriver clamped between his teeth, “is that something happened in Paris.”

Harry has a bit of difficulty understanding him because of the screwdriver and the gunshots, but he manages. He slides another clip into his handgun, pushes off the wall, and shoots at one of the persistent fuckers on the other side. “What about Paris?”

“HQ was really neurotic with that one, remember? Kept calling us into meetings and all.” He hears Louis hiss. “Ah. You done over there?”

Harry finally catches the guy in the chest and steps out of the room, into the hall way. “Three o’clock,” Liam chimes in his ear, and Harry drops to his knees and right and, blindly, lets two shots loose.

“Thanks,” he sighs when he sees the man drop to the floor.

“You’re clear now. Status on the bomb?”

“About to check right now.”

Harry reloads the gun as he makes his way back to Louis, who looks ready to jam his screwdriver into something fleshy. Like someone’s arm. “Still working on it, with a minute and thirty left on the clock,” he reports to Liam, only noting the blinking timer with mild concern. Louis could disarm explosives in his sleep.

To Louis, he says, “You think they’d had a problem with him for that long?”

Paris was a whole month before Niall left. It doesn’t make sense that HQ was holding a grudge for that long – HQ didn’t hold grudges, _period_. If the division didn’t like you, then you were out.

And it doesn’t sound right, someone having a problem with Niall. Niall might have laughed too loud or told lousy jokes or sometimes showed up half naked to combat training, but no one would ever deny that he was good at his job.

“These wires…” Louis murmurs, tracing his fingers gingerly against the mess of green and red. Harry watches as the older boy hunches over and inspects them, his expression gradually becoming more confused. “The night before Niall went rogue.” He leans back, biting his lip. “He came to see me. He looked like a mess, still in his pajamas with clothes hanging out of his bag, and I thought he was drunk at first. Kept cursing HQ out and checking my room for bugs and saying that I had to remember three things.”

“What?” Harry demands immediately, because of all the times he and Louis have speculated on Niall leaving, he’s never heard this. Also, there are only forty seven seconds left on the timer, and yeah, this really is the bad time to be off topic.

“First of all, he told me not to tell you this until I found two red snakes. That’s why I thought he was off his rocker – ‘til now.” Louis plucks out two wires in particular, both red and nearly identical except that one of them looks like two wires conjoined. His hands are shaking, and Harry gives him a sharp look, because Louis _does_ know how to disarm this, right?

(Thirty three seconds.)

“Second, he told me, _remember Amsterdam._ ” Louis snips his scissors open and close absently. “Does that mean anything to you? Because we’ve got twenty eight seconds left and training never went over what to do with _two_ red wires.”

“Okay, okay.” Harry tries not to sound too worried. “Liam? What the hell do we do?” And he knows he shouldn’t be, but his mind wanders to Amsterdam – _when was Amsterdam what happened why should we remember?_

“Cut the red wire,” Liam replies, like it should be obvious.

“There are two of them, you nutsack!” Louis (twenty seconds) seethes.

“Amsterdam,” Harry echoes faintly. He remembers Amsterdam now – the third case he worked on, the second one with Niall. He remembers jokes about prostitutes and (sixteen) freezing weather and their last day there, sneaking into each other’s hotel room and renting movies On Demand and (eleven) seeing Niall’s eyes light up when they watched—

“Oh,” Harry says, getting it now. “The single wire, Lou. Cut the single one.”

“What? How do you know?” Louis makes no move to (seven) cut it and Liam warns, “Don’t,” but (four) Harry grabs the scissors forcibly from Louis, identifies the thinner red wire, and (two) cuts it.

“You wiley fucker!” Louis wails, because his accent sounds even thicker when he’s upset _and_ feeling liberal with his language, and Harry closes his eyes and thinks about those wonderful last words he’ll ever hear.

 

vii.

They don’t die.

Liam almost does (probably of a panic attack, Harry snickers, or an aneurysm), but he sends in an extraction team for them with minimal berating. There’s just relief. “The building didn’t explode and we got a picture of the gang leader,” Liam tells them. “You’ll get a new assignment in a few days…” It all muddles together, and Harry understands something about a two-timing rat and catching a flight back home by tomorrow.

“So what exactly was Amsterdam?” Louis asks when they’re both sat on the curb and waiting to be picked up. Harry still feels a little frazzled, and the leftover adrenaline has yet to completely flush out of his veins. He thinks he could go for a marathon.

“Uh, first date.” He smiles at the memory, feeling his cheeks go slightly warm. “Me and Niall. On our last night there, he sneaked into my room and we stayed up all night watching movies, but his favorite was Captain America. He thought the villain was hilarious.”

“What part of that comes with instructions on how to disarm a bomb?”

“They had the whole hydra motif, cut off one head and two more shall grow back.” Harry deepens his voice in an attempt to capture the voice. He kind of succeeds. “I figured the single wire…”

“…was like the head,” Louis finishes for him. “You risked our lives based on your boyfriend’s favorite movie.”

“It’s not his favorite movie anymore, probably,” Harry says, and Louis punches him in the arm for his troubles.

“Well, you saved us, so I shouldn’t complain,” his best friend sighs. “Amsterdam was nice, though. Maybe my favorite mission, right after Norway.”

“I’m pretty sure Norway gave me gray hairs.” Harry shudders, remembering bowling alleys and explosive snowballs.

Louis cackles. “I live for the thrill of it.”

Harry rolls his eyes and picks absently at the concrete. Now he’s thinking of Amsterdam and Niall and how he wants to go see a movie with him again. “Back there, you said that he told you three things.”

“Oh, right.” Louis glances at him. “He told me to tell you to remember Venice, always.” He waves a hand dismissively. “Whatever the hell that means. Obviously, you two have your own little language and quite frankly, I’ll puke if it translates to something sappy.”

“Venice.” Harry knows. He chuckles, shaking his head and ignoring the gagging noises that Louis makes.

Yeah, he definitely knows.

 

viii.

His clock reads fifteen minutes past two o’clock (in the morning) when there’s someone suddenly wriggling into his arms and he almost reaches for his gun.

“S’just me,” comes a familiar voice, and through the dark, he makes out a blond head of hair and sleepy blue eyes. “Also, I put your gun in the drawer. Stop keeping it under your pillow, it’s not comfortable.”

“I’m so glad I’m on your good side.” Harry yawns, accepting Niall easily. The smaller boy fits in his arms. It’s quite nice. “What was wrong with your bed?”

“Landlord kicked me out of my temporary apartment.” Niall burrows insistently into his chest. “Now shut up. I walked fifteen blocks, I’m tired, you’re warm, and I want to sleep.”

Harry acquiesces. Within minutes, Niall’s snoring softly, and Harry ducks his head and presses his lips against the other boy’s forehead. “I’m awfully fond of you,” he mutters. He reckons he should be terrified, because for someone with his job, this should be the last thing he wants, much less _have_.

He decides _why_ not and pulls the blanket tighter over them. He’s never been one for rules, anyway.

 

ix.

“This is should be pretty simple,” Liam’s voice crackles through the earpiece five days later. “You there, Joker?”

“Present,” Louis’s voice joins in.

“Spitfire?”

Harry hums in assent.

“Right.” Liam pauses, and Harry hears the audible clicking of a keyboard. “I’ve just added your name to the guest list, Spitfire. Locate the target, slip the tracking device.”

Harry takes it as a cue to adjust his mask and start walking up the steps of the grand mansion, tuning Liam out as he gives Louis his own set of instructions. He recites his alias to the man by the door, waits as he checks the list, and smiles politely when he’s let through.

The interior is even more flamboyant than the exterior: chandeliers, a sparkling water fountain, an orchestra playing soft music in the corner. He’s led up a wide staircase and past a golden archway and into a ballroom. People are already there, and everyone has masks perched neatly on their faces, laughing freely and talking to each other. Masquerades make him a little nervous, but he’s done this before; _it’s just like Bulgaria_ , he thinks in an attempt to steady himself. Bulgaria was a hell of a time.

There seems to be an overabundance of lights and red velvet drapes, all tied together by these fancy looking clips shaped like swans. Harry pretends to observe them, waiting for more people to arrive.

He knows what the target looks like: jet black hair, dark eyes, and high cheekbones. All they had were a couple of fuzzy photographs to go off on, but he has the image ingrained to the back of his eyelids.

“Panic,” he murmurs, brushing past the wine table. “I don’t see him anywhere.”

A few seconds later, Liam replies, “He’s marked off the guest list as present. Just keep an eye out.”

Except half an hour later, he’s circled the area a good twenty times and the target is _not there_.

“Permission to check the rest of the premises,” he resigns to asking.

“Granted.” Liam doesn’t sound too happy about it. “Be careful.”

Harry’s first stop is the small sitting room to the side, but its only inhabitants are the couple that’s getting a bit too frisky. Harry politely shuts the door after them.

He ducks out into the hallway next and blindly turns right, smiling at a woman who swishes past in her dress. He reaches what seems to be the kitchen – and stops.

“Niall?” he utters, because Niall is there too, clothed in a dark gray suit with his mask pushed up and away from his face. He looks up at Harry’s entrance, eyes wide and panicked.

There is a woman at his feet with spittle and foam dribbling out of her mouth whose eyes, unblinking and perpetually frozen in terror, stare up at the ceiling. A discarded feather mask lies a few feet away from the body – hers, Harry thinks.

“Liam.” He forgets codenames for a moment, forgets the mission and the target and everything else but this scene.

“I— I was here first, and she came in and we were talking for a few minutes.” Niall drops his head back down, taking the woman by the wrist and feeling for a pulse. His voice shakes, almost unnoticeably. “Then she just started frothing, and I was trying to get her to tell me what’s wrong, but she fell and—“ He stops, getting up suddenly. “I gave her that.” He points to a glass sitting on the counter, half full of champagne. “It was…my drink…”

“Spitfire.” Liam’s voice nearly makes him jump out of his skin.

“Guess who else is here?” Harry completely forgoes subtlety, a hand shooting up to press the device tighter against his ear.

There are a few seconds of keyboard tapping and then a general pause, which he assumes to be Liam finally switching views to the security camera in the kitchen. Harry gives a wave to the monitor in the corner.

“Oh fuck,” says Liam, at the same time Niall gives a panicked, “She’s not breathing, Harry,” and Harry performs one of his rare, split-second decisions, grabs Niall by the arm, and tugs him away from the body. He thinks he knows what’s happening, and for his and Niall’s sake ( _especially_ Niall’s sake) he hopes he’s wrong. “Who’s Zayn?”

Niall looks at him with wide eyes. “What—Let me go, Harry, Zayn has nothing to do with this—“

“What does he look like?” Harry hisses.

“The explosives are set,” Louis suddenly says. “Spitfire? S’that Goldie I hear with you?”

Harry leads (read: _practically drags_ ) Niall out of the room, his head swirling with thoughts of the bike and the apartment and the champagne and the two-timing rat. “I’m here because my target’s here,” Harry explains, finally yanking the ridiculous mask off. “I don’t know why _you’re_ here, but I’m guessing it’s because your boss – Zayn – is a dark haired, dark eyed guy with cheekbones, is it?”

He takes Niall’s gaping stare as a sign to keep going.

“My division’s been tracking him for the past two weeks. I don’t know how he’s doing it, but he’s also the leader of another gang who set up explosives in a hospital a few days ago.” Harry tugs them along through the hallways, and it’s hard to concentrate with the other million thoughts brewing in his head, but he manages to visualize the floor plan that he had practically ingrained to the back of his eyelids. “But you know all of that already, don’t you? You knew it since the night you left. You told Louis…”

They pause at the end of the corridor in front of a window and Harry dares to think that it might be romantic, if, you know, their lives weren’t in danger.

Niall finally frees himself from Harry’s grip. His cheeks are flushed. “I’d been tracking him for almost a year,” he mumbles. “Paris was all him, you know. Rogue gang member that he was trying to eliminate, and when the division stepped in, he got pissed. I- I tried telling HQ, but no one listened and eventually I had to do something to stop him from coming after the division-“

“So you left.”

“So I left.” Niall exhales shakily and rakes a hand through his hair. “He really did follow through with the hospital explosives, didn’t he? He loves that two-red-wires stuff. Damn.” He laughs, loud and nervous. “I have amazing foresight.”

Liam and Louis’s voices are getting too loud, and Harry yanks the earpiece out and tosses it somewhere. “Not enough foresight to realize that he knows,” he tells Niall urgently, “and that he’s trying to kill you.”

Cue the gunshots that kill both of them.

 

x.

Just kidding.

But there really is a gunshot, and it splices neatly through the air between them and lodges into the ceiling’s plaster.

Niall shoves him away and they both drop to the fancy carpeting in a shower of glass. “Are you okay?” are the first words to leave Harry’s mouth as he looks over Niall for any sign of red.

“I’m fine,” Niall grunts, pushing himself up to a sitting position.

In the distance, an explosion goes off and rocks the floor. Screams ring out from the party, and Harry assumes that this is Louis’s doing and the courtyard is now a mess of rubble and broken angel statuettes.

 “That’s an M72 Law,” he hears Niall whisper under his breath. The blond is peering over the side of the window and, judging from his expression, he’s not looking at a pleasant sight. “What’s he gonna do, blow the whole place?”

“If you’re in here, then I’m guessing yes.” Harry brushes glass off his suit and presses his back to the wall. “Those stairs on the other side of the hall lead out to the courtyard. Louis should still be there. Go. I’ll keep him occupied.”

Niall turns his gaze on him, his eyes hard and unamused. “You’re kidding.”

“I’m not.”

“Do you not remember Brazil?”

Fuck, Harry remembers Brazil. “That was one time,” he harrumphs, “and one of us wasn’t in danger of dying. This is different.”

“I’m not leaving you,” Niall says simply, and stands up.

“Get down, Niall,” Harry hisses, grabbing his hand and tugging. Niall easily shakes him off.

“Niall,” he hears someone call, and he assumes that’s Zayn talking. He hasn’t properly seen the guy’s face yet, but Harry thinks he really wants to punch it.

“This is actually disappointing,” Niall returns, voice level. “I thought you were cute.”

Harry pinches his leg.

“Really? Feeling’s mutual, mate. Put your hands up.”

Harry makes a move to get up, but Niall nudges him back down as he raises both of his arms to the side of his head. He presses his index finger and thumb together twice in quick succession, then flips Zayn off.

“Nineteen?” Zayn asks at the same time Harry recognizes the sign language. “Are you trying to talk to someone, Nialler?”

 _Nineteen,_ Harry thinks, and he remembers August nineteenth as his first day in the division, sitting next to a blond boy after they’d just taken a written exam. He remembers Niall turning around and whispering, “What’d you put down for number nineteen?” and he remembers whispering back, “Gastrocnemius.”

He gets it. (God, it’s almost frightening how well they know each other.) He pulls up Niall’s pants leg and sure enough, there’s a gun strapped to the side of his shin.

“Just you, babe,” Niall says dryly. “Nice launcher. I thought you’d be more of a sniper guy, but I guess first impressions can be wrong, eh?”

Harry hears Zayn laugh, and that’s when he finally springs up, aims in record time, and pulls the trigger.

“Duck!” Niall yelps, and Harry barely sees Zayn raise the launcher before he’s being tackled down, his head slamming against carpet as another explosion rumbles the floor.

His ears are ringing. He’s vaguely aware of Niall trying to pull him up now, and the world spins as they sprint down the hall and he wonders how Niall doesn’t even seem fazed.

He remembers reaching the courtyard and he remembers being passed off to Louis, and he remembers slurring Niall’s name and feeling a kiss on his cheek.

Harry thinks he passed out after that. It’s kind of embarrassing.

 

xi.

_“You’re not afraid of boats, are you?” Harry teased, looking up at Niall expectantly._

_“Me? ‘course not,” Niall huffed. He crossed his arms and stayed put, to the chagrin of the gondolier. “I’m just waiting for you to move over. I can’t get into the boat if your arse is taking up all the room, can I?”_

_Harry chuckled, moving over despite the considerable amount of space already there. “Is that enough for you, your Majesty?” He grinned and offered the other boy a hand._

_He watched as Niall’s eyes softened, the way his shoulders relaxed, and noted the hint of a smile across his lips when he took Harry’s hand. “Don’t let me fall into the water, Spitfire,” he commanded, and Harry didn’t. He held Niall’s hand until the blond was properly seated next to him, and even then he kept their fingers twined._

_“Wouldn’t dream of it, Goldie,” he said affectionately, despite the way the bones in his hand felt like they were being crushed. Niall was worth a few broken appendages._

_The gondolier pushed them off of the wall and then they were on their way down the canal._

_“So this is nice,” Niall commented, leaning into him and maybe resting his head on his shoulder._

_Harry figured it was a nice calm before the storm of the mission tonight. He released a shaky breath and ignored the butterflies in his stomach. He felt semi-normal at that moment. They could’ve been just like any other couple on a gondola ride, not two spies visiting the country to eliminate a target._

_“I’m awfully fond of you, you know,” he said softly._

_“Oh,” Niall hummed. “That’s dangerous.”_

_“It’s always been,” Harry returned evenly. “What’s one more little thing gonna hurt?”_

_Niall turned to him then, the corners of his eyes slightly crinkled in mirth. “I wholeheartedly agree,” he told him, and he closed the distance between them and that was it, that was their first kiss, and Harry thought that it could be somewhere romantic and off-mission like on the Great Wall or on top of the Empire State Building, but this was nice too. This was Niall, all soft lips tasting vaguely of hot chocolate, and Harry wasn’t complaining._

_“I think I’m awfully fond of you, too,” Niall said when they pulled apart, like they hadn’t just kissed._

_“Well, good. I think it would have been very awkward if you didn’t,” said Harry, and Niall rolled his eyes but it was light-hearted and Harry allowed himself to lean in close again._

_“There are two people in the gondola behind us,” he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to the side of Niall’s jaw, “and they look like tourists, but I see guns sticking out of their bags.”_

_Niall’s eyes fluttered shut. “Amateurs,” he sighed, his free hand already reaching inside his jacket. “On three?”_

_“On three,” Harry confirmed, his fingers brushing over the handle of his own. Fucking date crashers. “One, two—“_

xii.

“—three,” Niall’s counting when Harry walks into the warehouse, “forty-four…forty-five…”

“Are you that bored?” he asks, amused, and the boy dangling from the ceiling gives him an unimpressed look.

“You’re late,” Niall says flatly.

“By, like, fifteen minutes.” Harry glances at his watch and ignores the sigh of, “Oh, here comes their fucking mating ritual,” courtesy of Louis from his earpiece.

“No, by a month.” Niall crosses his arms and tries to look upset, but he’s upside down and the flesh of his tummy is exposed from where his shirt sags down. It doesn’t really work. “When you said you’d be back to take back the drive, I was under the impression that it’d be a few days.”

“That’s why I never specified a date.” Harry drags a stepladder over and climbs it, wasting no time in rooting through Niall’s pockets. “You seriously didn’t notice the rope on the floor?”

“Neither did you.” Niall squirms. “That tickles. Back left pocket.”

Harry finally finds the flash drive and announces a simple, “Port retrieved,” into the earpiece before he’s stepping back down.

“Next time, you should put it in your crotch,” Niall suggests mildly.

“Scandalous.” Harry pushes the stepladder aside and kisses Niall.

“For God’s sake,” Louis whines.

“See you next time, Goldie.” Harry steps away with a smile on his face, raising two fingers in a salute.

Niall giggles and flips him off. “Probably in less than twelve hours, Spitball.”

 

xiii.

“I told you to tell him to stop sneaking in,” Liam says, sounding exasperated. Harry feels that when it comes to him and Niall, he sounds exasperated a lot. The older boy is struggling to plug in the UV light, and Harry would usually laugh at his troubles, but it’s seven in the morning and neither of them is in the mood to check for prints.

“Why’re we doing this anyway?” Harry groans. “If someone broke in, we shouldn’t be checking the fridge.”

“I think HQ’s just out for our asses,” Liam tells him, which is probably true.

Harry shuts his eyes for a few moments, almost falling asleep on the counter until Liam pokes his arm and says, “Hey, it’s for you.”

He opens his eyes and he follows Liam's line of sight: someone has deliberately written on the refrigerator’s steel surface.

 _Stop keeping things under your pillow,_ reads the message, illuminated by the UV light. Beneath it is a small _Remember Venice_ complete with a cutesy heart and it’s so _Niall_ that Harry finds himself grinning like an idiot.

“You kept the flash drive under your pillow?” Liam says disapprovingly, and Harry rolls his eyes because he already opened his window that morning and flicked a piece of tracker gum onto Niall’s (new) bike parked conveniently below.

“I’ve got it, I’ve got it.” He waves the concern away. “I’ll go find Lou.” And then he’s off, already feeling less sleepy, because tracking with Louis means watching street surveillance of Niall and then laughing when Niall makes faces at the cameras because he _magically_ knows that he’s being watched.

Harry’s grin dies down to a slight, affectionate smile, and he hears Niall telling him, _remember Venice_ , and he says under his breath (for the benefit of the bug that he knows Niall has taped under the collar of his shirt), “Always.”


End file.
